I Do
by ohmyrowlingdoyle
Summary: John is learning to move on in his live... until he realizes he might not have to. Johnlock. Slight spoilers for 2x03, fluffy fluff. Filling a tumblr prompt
1. Inside

**First fic, please be kind**

**I don't own any of these characters or the show. If I did, there would be constant fluff and barely any substantial plot… kind of like this fic.**

**Filling a tumblr prompt**

Inside

John smiled. It wasn't a true smile, not really. He hadn't really smiled in ages. Three years to be exact. Three years and eight months. But still, it was a smile, and that was enough. If he could even be a little happy, that was enough because a little happy was better than before. Much better.

John felt a small nudge on the small of his back as he was brought back to reality. He turned around and sent a small, grateful smile to Lestrade behind him. John ran his hands nervously over his suit and looked down the aisle at the beautiful figure in white walking towards him. She was beaming, radiating with pure joy.

John was jealous of her; jealous of the complete happiness she could feel with him when he couldn't feel that with her. But he pasted a smile on his face anyway, because that's what he was supposed to do. He was supposed to be happy today. Still, despite what he was "supposed" to be feeling on that day, he couldn't shake the horrid pit in his stomach. The feeling inside him that told him he was wrong, that this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. The feeling that had been growing since that day. That horrible day. The day that Sherlock fell.

Simply thinking the man's name sent John into a whirlwind of emotions. He put a stopper on them as fast as he could. _Not today, John. You can't do this to Mary, not today. _He told himself.

Then, Mary was in front of him. She was beautiful and smiling and happy and **there**. _That's what matters_, John told himself, _that she's here. He isn't, but she is._

As the priest got on with the ceremony, John looked out across his friends and family in attendance. Harry, his mother, and father sat in the front pew, smiling and happy. Happy he was finally getting on with his life. After everything had happened, they weren't sure he would last. But he had and that's all that mattered to them. Further back was Mycroft, staring- albeit characteristically- at his phone. Come to think of it, John wasn't quite sure why he had invited Mycroft. It had made sense at the time but now seeing him was just a reminder. A reminder of everything John would never have.

_Mary! Remember Mary, John!_ He lectured himself mentally. He turned back to her, sensing the concern in her eyes. He smiled at her. No, not a smile, more that he turned the sides of his mouth up to appease her. But that's what most of his smiles looked like now so she didn't notice anything amiss.

Finally, John turned his attention back to the ceremony. The familiar words that had been rehearsed so many times over played familiar tunes to his memory. Familiar, comfortable, that's what kept him here. The familiarity and comfort Mary gave him. She brought him out of his depressing those few years ago and stayed with him. She was there for him when he needed someone, it wasn't her fault she wasn't **the one** he needed.

"If anyone can show just cause why this couple cannot be legally joined in marriage, let them speak now or forever hold their peace," the priest spoke evenly, clearly comfortable with the words and their insignificance. After all, how often do people really object at weddings? It just wasn't done. "A bit not good" he would have said long ago.

"I do"

The voice rung out across the church and was met with earsplitting silence from the assembled audience. John didn't look up. He didn't blink. He didn't even dare to breathe. He couldn't bring himself to move because it might shatter the illusion because that familiar baritone was something he hadn't even dared to imagine for more than three years.

"John…" the voice came from much closer now, barely even five feet from him.

John squeezed his eyes shut. "No. This isn't happening. Not now," he whispered.

"John… I…"

John opened his eyes. Illusion be damned, he needed to know. Carefully, he turned his head slightly to his left, heart drumming in his ears.

And there he was. Standing in the middle of a church aisle, just a few feet away. John need only take the four stairs down separating them and-

"John… John dear what's going on?" a quiet voice came from beside him. A voice very different from the one he wanted to hear.

"I don't… I don't know…" John uttered, barely a whisper. He was surprised he even had that much of a voice, considering it felt as though his heart had taken permanent residence in his throat. John still hadn't taken his eyes from the pale figure before him, trying to understand. He looked just the same. Same unreadable expression, same gloriously curly black hair, same long, thin limbs, and the same bloody cheekbones. And the same piercing silver eyes staring back at him, seeming to look straight into his soul.

"You can't be… real…" the last word forced John's voice to crack, overwhelmed by emotion. "You're… you're dead."

A small smile quirked across Sherlock's face as he continued to stare into John's eyes, quietly muttering so only John could hear, "We both know that's not quite true."

Just like that, a real smile broke across John's face. It almost hurt it was so pure and happy but it was the good kind of pain. The kind of pain that was a cause of not doing something wonderful for such a long time, it almost hurt to remember how much you enjoyed it.

"John can I have a word… in private?" Sherlock muttered slightly impatiently, giving Mary a look John remembered as the one he reserved for idiots. A look John fondly remembered getting on several occasions.

Without realizing it, John had descended the steps and was following Sherlock out of the church.

"John Hamish Watson," Mary's voice rang out across the church, strong and resolute as she was, brimming with the balance of passion and sense she managed to posses at once. "I have put up with a lot in the last three years and you know I love you. But I will not be left on my wedding day. Not for him. It's enough you talk about him nonstop despite his being… gone. It's enough you say his name in your sleep. I will not do this. If you walk out of here John, this is over. You will never see me again. Do you want to do that?"

John stopped for a moment, but only a moment. Before he could think anything of it, he was following Sherlock. Just like he always had and just like he always would.


	2. Outside

**Still don't own anything (though I wish I did…)**

Outside

The light broke out over John Watson's face as he followed Sherlock Holmes out of the church, his limp from the last three years disappearing and the ache in his stomach disappearing.

As Sherlock stopped and whirled around, signature black coat billowing behind him, John's breath caught in his throat and the magnitude of what was happening came crashing down on him.

"John Watson" Sherlock muttered, taking two great strides until he was just one small foot in front of his former friend as he gaped at him.

"H-how?" John stuttered.

"Come now John, don't be dull, we'll get to that later. Is the "how" really that important right now? Isn't the "what" much more important?"

Suddenly, the shock John was feeling shattered and the reality flooded his mind. His shock and awe were replaced with the pain and anger he had suffered through since Sherlock's disappearance. The intense hurt he had felt watching Sherlock hurtle himself of the top of the hospital. The stabbing in his chest from Sherlock reaching his hand out to him, just before he jumped. And the burning tears that had been almost constant since he checked Sherlock's wrist for the nonexistent pulse.

"Doesn't matter?" he growled, feeling his emotions overtake him. "Bloody hell! How could it not matter? You've been gone for three years Sherlock. Three bloody awful years where I've waited. I waited and lived through every day just for you. I stayed in the flat because every day I thought you might come home. I never touched your room because I didn't want to ruin anything for when you came back! I went back to bloody **therapy** for you Sherlock Holmes! And for what? So you could say it **doesn't bloody matter**?"

John was crying at this point, the tears he had been holding back all day finally pouring from eyes. With one final stride, Sherlock was standing directly in front of him and John was forced to turn his eyes away. If Sherlock was anything like he remembered, he would likely read the flush in John's face, the elevated heartbeat, and his dilated pupils and understand it without much thought at all.

"John Watson. I am sorry. Truly, painfully, horribly, and honestly sorry. I was… well I wasn't wrong-" John scoffed at this- "and I do not regret what I did, but I wish it hadn't hurt you so. I wish… I wish I could have… I wish I had…"

"Sherlock Holmes stumbles over his words, I never thought I'd see the day," John muttered, smiling sadly for the second time that day.

With that, Sherlock's eyes met John's again, more intensely this time. "You left your wedding," Sherlock stated simply.

"Yes," John replied with a curt nod, pulse quickening again.

"To follow me."

"Yes"

"The man that left with no explanation, made you believe he was dead."

"Yes"

"The man who you have hated for the last three years if this conversation has provided any insight."

"No"

"No?"

"No."

"You don't hate me?"

"No. No I don't hate you. God Sherlock, I could never hate you. It's just…"

With another small step towards John, Sherlock gave a small smile. "Just what, John?"

"Oh f'chrissakes" John muttered. Just like that, John grabbed Sherlock's face which was quite close to him at that point and brought it to his own. Sherlock's lips came crashing down onto John's, rigid and unmoving.

John held Sherlock there for a few more moments until he finally gave up as the sociopath's lips hadn't moved and the man had had no detectable reaction whatsoever. As John pulled away, he saw all the shock in Sherlock's eyes along with something else that if he hadn't known the detective, he might have mistaken for love.

"Sorry… that was… a bit not good… I'll just go. I'm glad you're not… you know… dead though," John stuttered awkwardly, turning to go.

Just as he turned, however, he felt a strong hand grab his arm, holding him where he was. "John?" Sherlock whispered, his voice full of feeling for what John believed might be the first time in his life.

"Sherlock… I think I should go… Seeing you again… it hurts. It hurts too much, Sherlock," John tried to keep his voice level, tried to stifle the emotions that had plagued him since Sherlock had left, "and I've had enough hurt the last three years."

"No, John, wait," Sherlock's voice was stronger now as he pulled John close to him again, pushing their chests against each other. Sherlock moved his hand down John's arm, settling his fingertips around his wrist as he brought it up to his own chest.

John felt Sherlock's heart beat, quick and strong, beneath his fingertips. Feeling it-feeling him there was almost too much for John. The tears welled up in his eyes again as he fixed his gaze back on the younger man in front of him.

Sherlock took a deep breath, eyes piercing into John's very soul, "I know you thought it had stopped for a long time, but this is my heart. Every beat… every second it lives is for you. I live for you, John Watson. The last three years were all for you. I know it was painful but you have to know it was wretched for me too. Molly sending me texts every other week telling me how much you were hurting, it nearly drove me out of hiding and I came bloody close to ruining the whole thing. But I didn't. I had to know you were safe. I never could have dreamed how painful it would be," Sherlock was pressing his forehead to John's now, his overwhelming scent of pure _Sherlock_ overpowering him as he tried to remind himself that Sherlock did not feel and could never feel how he did.

"Sherlock, please. Please just don't. Please. You don't have to do this; I never would have dreamed you would feel the same. But please, don't break my heart again. Just let me go," John's voice was barely a whisper as he kept his tears at bay.

"I'm afraid I can't do that John Watson. You see, I have been alone for the past three years. In leaving you, I gave up everything. I lost my heart when I lost you and I've recently discovered that one cannot live without it."

And with that, Sherlock hesitantly brought his own lips to John's. Suddenly, John forgave Sherlock for the three years of pain and pushed himself up slightly, desperate to keep the contact. As John captured Sherlock's perfect cupid's bow between his own lips, Sherlock dropped his hand and moved his arms around John's waist, holding John to him as firmly as he could.

The pair only pulled away when they had run out of breath. John found that he had put his hands on the back of Sherlock's neck at some point during the kiss but he didn't mind. As he stared at his- his what? Lover? Friend? Detective? John smiled at this. Yes, his detective. As he stared at his detective, his Sherlock, he began to play with dark curls at the base of his neck that clearly had not been trimmed in the last few months as they were longer than they should have been. He couldn't stop himself from grinning at this thought.

"What is it, my dear Watson?" Sherlock inquired, resting his head on John's once more.

"Nothing, it's just… you're here," John felt the tears pouring out of his eyes but he couldn't bring himself to stop, "you're here and you're alive and…"

Sherlock pulled John even closer, kissing the side of his face as John nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's shoulder. "Yes. I am here. And I am not leaving. Not ever. I mean it when I say you are my heart, John Watson. I could not survive living without you for another moment."

John looked up at him in disbelief before pulling the raven-haired man down for another passionate kiss. The two stayed wrapped in each other's arms for several more minutes before returning to Baker Street where they remained in each other's embrace for the rest of the night. Or, as many others would say, for the rest of their lives.


End file.
